


Positum Super Te

by Edge_of_Clairvoyance



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Brotherly Affection, Brotherly Love, Comfort, Comfort/Angst, Corporal Punishment, Discipline, Family, Family Feels, Feels, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Non-Consensual Spanking, POV Dean Winchester, Pre-Series, Punishment, Spanking, Teen Dean Winchester, Teenchesters, Weechesters, Young Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-11
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2019-05-21 02:25:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14906573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Edge_of_Clairvoyance/pseuds/Edge_of_Clairvoyance
Summary: "This book contains five versions of theRituale Romanum. You're gonna find all of them, copy them down and have them memorized by the time I get back. And you're gonna keep your ass planted on that chair the whole time, Dean, otherwise you're looking at round two with the belt. And God help you if I've missed that witness because of this; you won't be able to sit down for amonth. You hear me?"





	Positum Super Te

**Author's Note:**

> Parental spanking of a minor, if it disturbs, please don't read.  
> Some F-words, because that's how it is.
> 
> This author would like to extend her thanks to the very lovely [ToscaRossetti](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToscaRossetti/pseuds/ToscaRossetti), [CrazedPanda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrazedPanda) and [alexofthegarden](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexofthegarden/pseuds/alexofthegarden) \- they write as well as they beta, and that's saying something!

"I don't fucking have time for this," Dad huffed.

Dean stared at the worn carpet. "That asshole shouldn't have bothered you with it in the first place. The-"

"That _asshole_ is neighbourhood watch."

"Yeah, well, an asshole's still an a-"

"And _you_ should have known better than to give him lip and draw his attention," it made sense. In hindsight. And it was probably a good time for him to shut the hell up, except Dean's mouth sometimes went its own way.

"He was harassing me for no reason. I was just walkin' down the street, I wasn't doing anything even _remotely_ suspicious. I mean, is being a teenager considered a crime now?"

"No, but being a strange teenager with an attitude and a goddamned _butterfly knife_ is not something a neighbourhood watch is gonna overlook. And if you'd only been a little more polite, he'd have let you go, knife and all, and not hauled your ass back in here and made me waste more than half an hour trying to convince him we're not a threat to his upstanding community!"

Dean shuffled his feet, eyes fixed on the carpet. Dad was right, Dean knew he was, but that son of a bitch had been so goddamned _condescending_.

Dad huffed again. "I don't have time for this," he repeated. Then he moved forward.

Dean wasn't the least surprised when Dad grabbed his upper arm and started walking him to the kitchen table. He was still angry about the entire thing, but he was honest enough to admit he had this coming. Clashing with the authorities was a big no-no, even if that authority happened to be a lousy, balding, ass-faced neighbourhood watch.

Dad reached the table, pulled one of the chairs from under it, and let go of Dean's arm. "Pants," he barked.

Dean undid his jeans as fast as he could while Dad unbuckled his belt. As soon as the jeans and boxers were at his knees, Dad gripped his arm again and bent him over the back of the chair.

Okay, so Dad was a little more upset than he thought. It was probably due to the fact that he was just heading out to interview some witness about the case he was working when the self-appointed sheriff showed up with Dean in tow. Not a good thing, getting in the way of John Winchester while he was working. Dean should have done well to remember that.

He grabbed onto the edge of the seat and felt Dad pushing him forward. If he had been shorter or the chair back taller, he would have been on his tiptoes by now. It wasn't how Dad usually had him positioned for a whipping, but he was mad and in a rush, and anyway, it wasn't like Dean was going to voice any kind of opinion on the matter.

The belt landed with a loud _whack_ and Dean gasped and clutched the chair seat. Dad wasn't kidding when he said he didn't have time for this; the swats were falling so fast Dean hardly had a chance to catch his breath in between. That was probably why it took him a moment to become aware that Dad wasn't whaling all over his ass; the belt was hitting low, on his sit-spots, with harsh, targeted lashes.

Dean clenched his jaws and tried to keep still and quiet as the leather scorched his hide. The swats piling one on top of the other made the fire build considerably faster than it normally did. He would need to let go of the seat soon to bite his sleeve and was already getting ready for the maneuver, when all of a sudden Dad stopped.

Dean stayed where he was, breathing hard, and absently listened to the rustles of Dad threading his belt back through the loops of his suit trousers. That was it? Okay, it wasn't a walk in the park, but it was a long way from what he expected to be getting.

Dean peeked aside; yep, Dad's belt was back on. Then what the hell-

Dad took hold of his arm again and straightened him up. Dean had to grab the back of the chair as the rapid motion made his head spin.

"Get your pants back up," Dad said curtly. He usually didn't mind Dean slipping into something more comfortable after an ass-whooping, but this one wasn't too bad and anyway, he could change after Dad had gone out.

 He zipped up his jeans while Dad strode out to the living room of their rented apartment. He was back a moment later, dropped a book and a legal pad on the table and said, "sit down."

Dean circled the chair, drew it closer to the table and sat on it. He could immediately feel the sting in his ass, squirmed a little, and looked up at Dad.

"This book contains five versions of the _Rituale Romanum_ ," Dad said. "You're gonna find all of them, copy them down and have them memorized by the time I get back. And you're gonna keep your ass planted on that chair the whole time, otherwise you're looking at round two with the belt. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"Repeat the orders back."

"Find all five versions of the _Rituale Romanum_. Copy them down. Have them memorized. Keep my ass planted on the chair the whole time. Sir."

"Right. God help you if I've missed that witness because of this, Dean. You won't be able to sit down for a _month_. You hear me?"

"Yes, sir."

The front door slammed shut.

Dean sat there for a few minutes more, listening to the silence. His ass was throbbing like hell. He shifted a bit in his seat. No joy. The old man knew damn well how to aim the swats to make sure Dean would relish the lasting effect to the max.

Dean sighed, opened the book Dad had left him with and started scanning the pages. He squirmed again. Latin on a welted ass; would the fun never cease.

Light footfalls approached from behind. They stopped a few yards away, and a small voice said, "Dean?"

"Yeah, Sammy."

Sam came to his side and Dean looked up at him. The kid's face was scrunched up in worry. "You're okay?"

"I'm fine," Dean replied, much more gently than he intended. The apartment was somewhat bigger than their average motel room, and they had a bedroom to which Sam fled when the entire ordeal started. Dean wasn't sure how much his little brother actually heard, paper-thin walls or not, so he provided Sam with the most dazzling grin he could muster.

Sam didn't smile back. His big hazel eyes searched Dean's face and Dean had to put a bit of an effort into keeping his smile from faltering. "Want me to get you your sweatpants?"

"Nah, man, I'm good."

"I'll get them," Sam was already turning, but Dean grabbed his arm.

"Don't, Sam. I can't change, I'm not allowed up from the chair."

Sam huffed. "That's _stupid_."

"It's not, it's actually pretty smart. Dad should patent it. You know, ass-tanning by proxy. He'd make a killing."

"That's not what by proxy means," Sam glanced at the table. "What are you doing?"

"The _Rituale Romanum_."

"What about it?"

"There are not one, not two, not three, but _five_ versions of it in this book. I have the pleasure of hunting them down and having them memorized."

Sam's eyebrows lifted into his golden-brown bangs. " _That's_ the punishment?"

Dean almost snorted. "Not that you'd know, you nerd, but normal people consider Latin to be the opposite of fun."

Sam didn't bristle like Dean tried to make him do. Instead he pulled out one of the other chairs and sat down. Dean went back to figuring out if the Latin passage he attempted to decipher counted as a _Rituale_ version or not.

After a few silent minutes, Sam spoke up. "You don't have to always do that."

"Do what?"

Sam leaned his elbows on the table and tilted his head to look at Dean. "Get smart with people. Talk back."

Dean put his pen down. "Where did that come from?" Sam shrugged.

"I just… I think you could get in less trouble."

"Yeah, well, that guy was an asshole, okay? I was just walking down the fuckin' street, I wasn't-"

Sam shook his head. "It's not about that guy, Dean."

"Then what's it about?"

"You."

"Okaaay," Dean picked up the pen and turned the page in his book. "Good talk, but I'm a little busy here, so why don't you let me get back to it."

Even though he wasn't looking at Sam, Dean could feel his brother's eyes on him, but Sam only sat there quietly, so Dean turned another page and tried to concentrate. He was used to having Sam constantly around, but for some reason the feeling of his little brother's eyes drilling into him made him uncomfortable.

After the fourth time in a row attempting – and failing – to read the same paragraph, Dean looked up. "What?!"

Sam shrugged lightly. "Nothing, just…" he dropped his gaze to the fingers he was lacing and unlacing. "I just… I just don't want you to get hurt."

Dean wanted to burst out laughing, but something about Sam's voice made the laughter dry out in his throat. "Get hurt? What are you talking about?"

"The neighbourhood watch guy, he could have taken you to the police instead of home."

"But he didn't, because he knew he had no case. And anyway, even if he had, I'd have called Dad and he'd get me out."

"That's just it, Dean. You're counting on Dad to save your ass, but he's not always around. And what if it had been real cops and not neighbourhood watch? Or some gang member with a gun-"

"Hey," Dean turned in his seat, wincing a little at the sting in his ass, and put his hands on Sam's. "I'm not going to get hurt, okay? I can take care of myself." Sam raised his face to him, and Dean couldn't help the twinge of worry at seeing the kid's big eyes shining on the verge of tears.

"Every time you and Dad go on a hunt I'm scared you might not come back," Sam's voice was choking. "I don't want to be scared when you just go out on the street, you know? Be scared that you might piss off the wrong person and they-"

Dean pulled on Sam's hands, making the younger boy stand up from his seat, and then drew him close. Sam slid his arms around Dean's shoulders and Dean hugged him, tight, feeling Sam's body trembling a little. He pressed his face against Sam's shoulder.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm sorry, Sammy. I don't want you to worry about me. I'll always come back for you, little brother. Always."

Sam didn't answer, only held him closer and his breaths came accompanied by small sniffling sounds. Dean closed his eyes. All of a sudden the entire affair with the neighbourhood watch asshole seemed so stupid and immature. What was he trying to prove, anyway?

Sam drew back at last, but he still kept his hands on Dean's shoulders as he looked down into his face. Dean smiled at him. It was a piss-poor smile, but he did his best, and he could see Sam relaxing a bit, and that was all that mattered.

"You're okay, squirt?" He ran his fingers through Sam's too-long hair, brushing it away from his face. Sam nodded. "Awesome."

Sam snuffled and blinked, took a breath and glanced at the book and the legal pad. "You want some help with that?"

"Tempting, but I'll have to pass. It's fine, I got this," he was smiling more easily now, and gave Sam's back a pat. "Why don't you go have a blast with your homework? Or go wild with that Albanian lore book Bobby gave you." Sam peeked at him, seemingly shy all of a sudden.

"Can I… you mind if I stay here with you?"

Dean was about to crack some joke about it, but somehow what came out was a soft "of course you can, Sammy", and Sam smiled at last.

Dad was back three hours later. Dean tried to figure out if the sound of the door closing and Dad's footsteps bore well for his chances of sitting down comfortably for the next few weeks. Dad came into the kitchen, peeling off his suit jacket. He might have done it so it wouldn't get in the way when he swung the belt, but he might have just done it casually, like one would upon arriving home.

To be on the safe side, Dean kept a lid on it. Dad came to the table and looked down at the book and scattered papers. "You finish it?"

"Yes, sir."

Dad sat down in the chair Sam had occupied before. Dean shifted a bit in his seat; he wasn't sure he should have been asking, but he really needed to.

"Can I go take a leak, sir?"

Dad looked at him, surprised. "You didn't go to the bathroom?"

"You said to keep my ass planted," Dad's expression was a little weird, but he waved a hand to signal Dean he was dismissed.

Dean was in the bathroom in no time, his jeans unzipped even before he got there. He closed his eyes and sighed. Sweet, sweet relief. Sitting on a blistered ass was a torment, but for the last half an hour or so the pressure in his bladder was a serious contender.

He washed his hands and walked back to the kitchen. Dad was leafing through the legal pad, one hand absently tugging the knot of his tie loose.

"You can stand if you want to," it could have been a challenge to see if Dean would sit back down and suck it up. Dean didn't feel like sucking it up right now, not after three goddamned hours. On the other hand, he was still on very thin ice with the old man. He compromised by standing rod-straight, head high, eyes front, hands behind his back, and waited while Dad examined the pages. Dean used nearly half the legal pad until he had a clean final draft. He maybe should have asked Sam to throw the crumpled papers away; Dad didn't look kindly on a messy work space.

"I said five versions," Dad remarked, but his tone was neutral.

"Yes, sir. I found another one and I figured it could serve as back up, in case one of the other versions wasn't what you wanted me to find," it seemed wise to him at the time, but now he wasn't so sure. Now it seemed arrogant, smart-alec, and he felt like kicking his own ass for it, although he shouldn't really bother; Dad would probably do it for him.

Dad's expression didn't change. "You have all of them memorized?"

"Yes, sir."

"Let's hear it."

Dean started reciting the first version. He thought the pronunciation might have been a bit off at some points, but Dad said nothing, so he went on to finish the first version, then the second. As he started on the third, Dad raised his hand. "That's enough."

Dean could feel his breaths quickening and his stomach clenching, but he didn't move, just stood with his eyes staring straight ahead and his hands behind his back. He'd take the whipping Dad was going to dish out; he only hoped he could take it quietly.

"Yeah, that'll probably be enough for you for the hunt," Dad said.

It took a moment for the words to sink in. "You get a hold of the witness?"

"I did."

The relief was even greater than a short while ago in the bathroom; it was so overwhelming his head felt light. And then something else hit home and he turned his stare at Dad. "You're… you're taking me on the hunt with you?"

Dad looked back at him, evenly. "Up to you. I need a hunter, not a smartass brat."

Dean's mouth opened, but he snapped it shut and dropped his gaze. Yeah, Dad needed a hunter, someone responsible and mature and trustworthy. Not some sassy kid who couldn't even walk down the street without getting into the wrong kind of trouble. He wished Dad had missed his witness, because his eyes were stinging and his chest was throbbing and it was okay to cry while you were having your ass roasted, it really was.

Dad got up from his chair and then there was a big hand cupping Dean's face and lifting it up. Dean blinked, trying to force the tears back, but one got away and slithered down his cheek. He felt Dad's thumb wipe it away.

"What is it?" The tenderness in Dad's voice made another tear follow the first one. Dad let go of his face only to wrap his arms around Dean and draw him close. Dean burrowed into him, the fabric of Dad's good button-down slick against his cheek.

"I'm sorry," he breathed into Dad's chest. "I'm sorry I couldn't keep my big mouth shut, I'm sorry I'm a smartass brat and not a hunter, I'm sorry-"

"Shhhh," Dad rubbed the back of his neck, long calloused fingers working the tension out of his muscles. "It's okay, Dean, you're okay. You're forgiven. You're okay." There was a slight pause as Dad started stroking his hair. "A smartass brat wouldn't have had the discipline and willpower to work on that Latin assignment for hours on a sore backside and without so much as a pee break. And it wasn't a smartass brat talking just now, son."

"But I-"

"It wasn't."

Dean let out some air, sinking deeper into Dad's big body. The ache in his chest was lifting, dissolving in the warmth of his father's hug. Dad's voice was almost a whisper now.

"It wasn't, Dean, you hear me?"

Dean took a breath, and then another one. Dad needed a hunter, and Dean knew his duty. "Yes, sir."

**Author's Note:**

> Like my works? Want to subscribe and get updates on new stories? Make sure you subscribe to the **user** and not the specific work!


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